


division city battle

by mustardbastard



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hypnosis Mic, Alternate Universe - Hypnosis Microphone, Bad Puns, Edward Elric Swears, Exes, M/M, Rap Battles, aka the hypmic au no one asked for or will understand, assert ur dominance by rap battling, id advise u not to read kjgfkjgf, if u know me u should not be surprised that i wrote this, royed as samaichi? hell fuckin yeah, thats basically what hypmic is, this is badly written & self indulgent, this was gonna happen eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 03:58:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19077031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mustardbastard/pseuds/mustardbastard
Summary: it's the last battle of the season, the final fight to determine who will become the division champions.it's the risembool three against the dogs of the military.it's ed's last chance to fight against his ex, roy mustang, and take back what was stolen.a hypnosis microphone au





	division city battle

**Author's Note:**

> sigh ok  
> this is trash & I kinda rly hate it but like it was stuck in my head & ive been working on it for 2 days now so just take it. I don't fucking want it anymore.  
> probably won't make a lot of sense unless u have hypmic knowledge so lemme give u a quick run-down:  
> -women rule the government  
> -weapons are banned  
> -the only weapon permitted is called a hypnosis microphone, which has psychological damage on ur opponents in a rap battle  
> -territory can be gained or stolen thru the division battles  
> -I fucked with hypmic lore for this so, not everything is accurate to hypmic canon
> 
> but basically ed, al, & winry are buster bros, & roy, riza, & havoc are mtc (bc MTC vs BB)  
> lyrics are shamefully lifted from WAR WAR WAR aka MTC vs BB's song, though i tweaked with them a bit.
> 
> roy's crew is referred to as dogs of the military, but their initials are GNI. this is because in japanese, dogs of the military/military dogs is 軍隊の犬, or guntai no inu (well, technically should be inu-tachi, for plurals, but whatever.) i needed 3 initials & it works.
> 
> el & al & win are called the risembool 3 bc they're from risembool, but they represent south city division bc of ed & al's time in dublith & winry working in rush valley.
> 
> i think thats abt it??  
> again i apologize for how Bad this is (esp if ur from the royed discord..... waves weakly. hi.) but im jst. done with it. take it from me.

This is it.

 

The second round of the division-city rap battles, and their last chance— _Ed’s_ last chance to become the division champion(s) and win back the territory that was stolen from them. Territory that was stolen when Ed was stabbed in the back—.

 

He can do this. _They_ —him and Al and Winry—can do this. The Risembool Three can win against the Dogs of the Military.

 

GNI doesn’t fucking stand a chance against Ri3.

 

All Ed has to do is keep his cool and not deck his back-stabbing bastard of an ex-boyfriend and ex-teammate in the face the moment he sees him—because it’s been over a _year_ since State Alchemists split and the infamous duo, Flame and Fullmetal, was no more. But Ed’s anger still burns as hot as ever, a raging inferno of fury and hurt and _betrayal_. Was everything just a goddamn lie to him? Did Ed ever actually _mean_ anything?

 

But that doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is staying focused and _winning_. Everything else can be fucking dealt with later.

 

Because they’ve finally goddamned arrived in Central, train pulling in from Dublith late as always, and the division battle starts in not even an hour. Ri3 can’t afford to be late, not at this stage in the game, not when being late would mean forfeiting and they’ve come _too goddamn far_ to let GNI win, let alone so easily.

 

It seems Ed’s shitty luck has decided to make an appearance, however, because the moment he steps off the train, he sees _him_. Rage courses through him, a white-hot pulse that stops him in his tracks— _t_ _hough the memories that flash in his mind at the sight of him rather makes him feel like dying, because even though it’s been a year, he still owns part of Ed’s heart and likely always will and Ed_ hates _him for it, almost as much as he hates himself for believing his lies_ —causing Winry to bump into him as she attempts to step off the train behind him.

 

“ _Oof_ —Ed, what the hell? Get out of the way! I could’ve fallen, you dummy.” When Ed doesn’t respond, Winry softens her voice and questions, “Ed?”

 

Ed’s voice is shaking with anger as he bites out, “he’s here.”

 

And Winry doesn’t know the full story—doesn’t know all of the _history_ that lies between him and Ed, but she knows enough, and though the hand she lays on his arm is likely meant to be comforting, he can feel the tension in her grip. “ _Fuck_ that asshole,” she says, voice low with anger on Ed’s behalf. _God_ , Ed is so lucky to have Winry as his best friend. They butt heads and argue over shit as often as not, but he’d do anything for her and knows she feels the same about him.

 

Al chooses now to pipe up from behind them, “Brother, as much as I’d love to let you glare him to death, we really do need to get going if we’re going to make it. He probably won’t even notice us, anyway.”

 

Ed loves his baby brother, would give up his _life_ for him, but _dammit_. He jinxed them.

 

_He_ turns around and the smirk that spreads across his smarmy bastard face upon seeing the trio makes Ed’s fist clench at his side.

 

“Well, if it isn’t the Risembool Three. So you decided to show up after all, hm? Not that it matters, really—you won’t be winning this round. Though, Edward, I must ask, have you gotten _shorter_? I can barely see you standing there.”

 

Ed doesn’t even have a chance to finish grinding out, “shut up, Mustang, you bastard,” before Winry and Al are both at his side, Winry snapping out a harsh, “don’t talk to Ed, asshole!” as Al drags them away, calling out sweetly over his shoulder, “maybe you should consider getting glasses, Mr. Mustang—failing eyesight _is_ one of the most common side-effects of getting old.”

 

Has Ed mentioned that he loves these two? Because _fuck_ , what did he ever do to deserve them?

 

Whatever Roy— _Mustang_ , Ed corrects in his head, he doesn’t get to be called Roy anymore, deserves nothing less than the title of bastard—says in reply is lost in the sound of the train’s engine firing up and pulling away from the station.

 

Good. It’s not like Ed wanted to know what he was gonna say, anyway. His voice is too annoyingly hot for that, grating on Ed’s every nerves.

 

When they’re finally some distance away, Ed feels like he can finally _breathe_ again—most of the tension melts away from his body, leaving only left the anxiety thrumming in his bones about having to go through that again during the battle. It _hurts_ , seeing Mustang again, more than Ed had expected it to. His betrayal still stings _,_ like a day-old knife wound carved into his skin that’s had its stitches pulled open and is bleeding anew.

 

It only serves to make Ed that much more determined to win.

 

“Thanks for back there,” Ed says quietly, breaking the silence between the three.

 

Winry stops to look at him and after searching his face, throws her arms around Ed, hugging him tightly. “Of course, silly! You’re my best friend, I’m not about to let your asshole of an ex-teammate smacktalk you.”

 

Ed huffs and mutters, “‘ex-teammate’, right.” If he holds onto her a little longer than normal, Winry doesn’t mention it.

 

“If it wasn’t for the fact that I hate him on principle for what he did to you, Brother, I’d worry about him dying from severe bowel impaction, because he’s so full of shit,” Alphonse says.

 

Winry clucks. “I don’t know about that, Al. I think most of it comes spewing out of his mouth. His ass is probably relieved that it doesn’t have to deal with the full load.”

 

“Fair point,” Al concedes.

 

Ed snorts to himself and then he’s bursting out into laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of it all, clutching his stomach with one hand and holding onto Al’s shoulder with the other. Because apparently this is his life now, his brother and his best friend making shit (talking) puns about his ex, whom he’s about to _rap battle_ against. “Oh, fuck. I really owe you guys.”

 

Al beams at him, looking so angelic that if Ed didn’t know his brother, he’d be shocked to learn what he was just saying. “What are siblings for?”

 

Ed glances between Al and Winry, smiling softly. “Yeah.” He links his left arm in Al’s and his right in Winry’s, dragging them close. “Now, let’s go kick some fucking GNI ass!”

 

Al whoops while Winry cheers, “hell yeah! They’re going _down_!”

 

Yeah, Ed can handle this. Ri3 is definitely gonna win.

 

🔀

 

The beat hasn’t even started yet and already Ed’s blood is fucking pumping. He’s bouncing on his feet as they wait for the MC to finish introductions.

 

“Representing East City Division, we have Dogs of the Military! They need no introduction, but Flame, Talon, and Smokin’ Ash have been _killing_ it lately, topping the charts and winning battles left and right. Don’t count them as an automatic win just yet, though. Because representing South City Division, we have up-and-comers, the Risembool Three! Fullmetal’s a veteran to the hypnosis mic scene, an ex-member of the legendary State Alchemists like Flame, but is accompanied by rookies Gearhead and Steel Soul. They’ve been quickly making their way up the ranks and gaining popularity underground. Will these underdogs have what it takes to beat GNI and take home the title of division champion? Let’s find out, Central!”

 

The MC _fucking_ finally finishes, Christ, why couldn’t she and her annoying nasal voice have shut up sooner, and the music’s starting, nearly as loud as the cheers and shouts from the crowd.

 

Ed’s heart thumps in his ear as he steps forward, steps closer to Mustang. Because it’s customary that before a battle, the leaders of each group shake hands and greet each other. And Ed was going to try and be mature about it, but you know what? Fuck it. Mustang doesn’t deserve the _shit_ scraped off of the bottom of Ed’s boots.

 

Mustang sticks his hand forward for the shake, cocky smirk in place that Ed would _love_ to just deck, and Ed slaps his hand away in a pathetic facsimile of a handshake. “Someone called for animal control, huh? The phone-call said they saw a rabid dog but all I see are some pathetic bitches. Heh, this’ll be easy.”

 

The satisfaction of seeing Mustang grind his teeth in irritation, fists clenching at his side, tastes as sweet on Ed’s lips as his kisses and little white lies ever did.

 

“Are you sure you wish those to be your last words, Edward? I can’t promise your safety from any effects—you aren’t a child no matter how much you may look and act like one.”

 

“Fucking _bring_ it, bastard,” Ed replies, stepping back as the beat gets louder and faster.

 

Winry starts them off, pulling out her wrench-shaped mic and rolling her shoulders, the picture of nonchalance.

 

“ _We’re Risembool Three!!! (Nice to meet’cha—not)_

_The likes of GNI are real scum, huh? (Haha)_

_From here on out, you dogs will probably_

_Get stabbed in the heart by these rhymes Yeah_

_I don’t care about what came first_

_Playing cool will put you in your grave (Back off!)_

_I’ll kill you, grill you, we are fire_

_Burn you until you’re nothing but ashes”_

 

Ed high fives her as she steps back, gripping her hand tightly and shaking it once.

 

And then the blond chick on Mustang’s team, Talon, apparently, steps forward, her mic taking the shape of the scope on a rifle.

 

_“Stop trying to butt in you chattering brats  (give me a break)_

_Annoying small fry get out the way (get)_

_Right from the start we’re from different dimensions_

_We’re East City’s cold-blooded killers_

_Shit! Your mother ain’t here, you ain’t leaving here fine_

_Cheating in the heat ain’t nothing to laugh at_

_That sort of rap ain’t gonna beat me_

_Go home kids it’s time for bed”_

 

Which, _fuck_ , she’s actually pretty damn good. That bastard managed to actually put together a solid team, if Talon’s any indication for what the blond dude’s gonna be like. Ed feels the tell-tale ringing of the beginnings of a headache from a hypnosis mic and when he looks over at Winry, there’s blood trickling out of her nose. Shit, that’s not good.

 

Al comes forward to defend their honor, the least affected of the three.

 

“ _These words are a sharp knife (Knife)_

_We’re not gonna hesitate (We’re not)_

_Look, see? You haven’t stopped bleeding (No!)_

_Guess you’re about to die! (Die)_

_You guys are starting to panic_

_Your legs are shaking_

_I’ll reach out and pierce through too_

_East City will fall silent (Nice job, Alphonse)”_

 

Ed grins to himself as he sees Talon grimace and clutch her head. _Score. No one beats my baby brother_.

 

Following the pattern Ri3 has set it seems, the dude who must be Smokin’ Ash moves to the center of the ring. He spits, once, stomping on his cigarette and crushing it into the ground.

 

“ _If you’re a sharp knife then I’m a gun (Gun!)_

_Blow your brains out with word bullets (Bang!)_

_Run now cause I’mma start shooting Bye bye_

_I know you’re gonna be whimpering and crying hi hi_

_This light diss is something I quickly whipped up right now_

_I’ll eat you up using these skills_

_Dogs of the Military are the real homies_

_This battle is our side’s victory”_

 

_Christ_ , Ed’s head is throbbing in pain right now and he sees Al stumble slightly out of the corner of his eye. He can’t afford to show any weakness, though. Because it’s his turn.

 

Ed activates his mic, watching as the snake crawls around the cross that covers his fingers as he holds it. He holds the back of his neck, cracking it in a side-to-side motion.

 

“Fullmetal in the fuckin’ house,” he murmurs into his mic, smirking when he hears the roar of cheers at his title. “Time to put down some mangy mutts.” Ed bops his head to the beat for a moment, then starts,

 

“ _I don’t need to keep firing ‘til I hit the mark (Hahaha) (Idiot!)_

_I’m a sniper; I only need one shot_

_Reading your movements and today’s wind_

_I’ll take you out with a single headshot (Bang!)”_

 

Mustang steps forward to the center during Ed’s verse, and begins circling around him, probably in some shitty type of an intimidation maneuver. Whatever, Ed doesn’t care. He follows Mustang with his eyes, until he disappears from view behind Ed, continuing,

 

“ _You probably won’t even know what hit you (Ah?)_

_East City’s not up to our level_

_Today’s the end of Mustang’s life (Go to sleep, dog)_

_It’s too late to say you’re sorry (So fuck off!)”_

 

Ed doesn’t even have a chance to catch his breath before Mustang’s up in his face, spitting out his lines smoothly.

 

“ _First address me with -taisa properly shitty brat_

_You ain’t going beyond this point without passing through me_

_I am owning this battle just like that (yo!）_

_Well, I’ll do it for fun, applaude (applaude)_

_No end, no meaning_

_So just fucking burn already_

_It’s do or die_

_Just an irregular life_

_What could even stop us_

_A forged mic unchanged from the past (GNI!)”_

 

Ed snarls, glaring viciously into Mustang’s eyes, and shoves his face right back, their foreheads nearly touching. How _dare_ he? ‘Unchanged from the past’? That fucking _bastard_. His grip tightens on his mic, clenching it so tight that they only reason he’s worried more for the mic than his hand is because it’s in the grasp of his automail. He can hear the rest of their crew members sniping insults back and forth, but it’s all background noise to Ed. All he can focus on is him and Mustang and the ringing in his ears.

 

( _“Shut up you ‘Risembool hicks (Shut up!)_

_We’ve caught you already near death”_

 

_“What are you saying? You won’t stop bleeding (Bitch!)_

_It’s already our win, Alright?”_

 

_“What do you mean by alright, here’s a chance (Head shot!)_

_Your minds are in a flower garden (filled with damn pollen)”_

 

_“Then, I’ll give you chrysanthemums (It suits you)_

_I wonder if you’ll go to hell after you die (Bye Bye)”_ )

 

Mustang smirks, nudging his face closer to Ed’s until their noses _just_ brush. Ed’s too caught up in the heat of the battle to even _think_ about being embarrassed or angry at the clear attempt at manipulation—because obviously it was meant to throw Ed off his game, Mustang pulling shit that he used to do when they were together, when it was just the two of them in private and his inner romantic was allowed to shine through his guarded walls.

 

_“Now that we’ve come this far there’s no return (Burn!)_

_Be prepared to lose through and through shitty brats (You hear me?!)”_

 

_Another_ dig at their relationship? Damn, Mustang, you keep bringing it up so much, it makes Ed wonder if he’s not over him. Not that Ed can say that, seeing as they were never public. And Ed hates Mustang’s guts, but he’s not about to out him.

 

“ _The battle is already coming to an end (quick like you, huh?)_

_I won’t say anything bad, but you guys are seriously sick”_

 

_“Ri-3!!! Ri-3!!!”_ Al and Winry shout behind him.

 

Ed yanks his head back from Mustang on the last word, and spits. Blood falls to the ground. Ed bares his teeth in a grin, bone covered in red, wild and _fierce_ , turning to the crowd and pumping his fist in the air.

 

The crowd is a cacophonous, _ear-splitting_ roar of screams that does nothing to alleviate Ed’s now migraine. He doesn’t care. Sure, he feels seconds away from passing the fuck out and probably needs medical attention because _fuck_ is his vision shot to hell right now, but he’s sky-high with the taste of victory on the tip of his tongue.

 

“Well, how what that for ya, Central?! Do we have a winner?” the MC shouts as she moves back into the ring.

 

She receives a wave of cheers in response. “I don’t think I heard you!” Jesus Christ. Ed would roll his eyes but he doesn’t think he’s capable of it, not if he wants to remain upright.

 

The crowd screams again, louder, and Ed can’t tell who there are more shouts for. Fuckfuckfuck. He’s panting from exhaustion, heart pounding like he’s just finished a 100-meter sprint, and he _does not need this anxiety right now, so can the MC please just kindly hurry the_ hell _up and announce who won?!_

 

It seems that maybe for fucking once, whatever higher power that doesn’t exist has decided to grant Ed’s wish.

 

“Alright, alright. I think we all agree then. The winner of this battle and the new division champions are…”

 

Winry and Al are beside him in an instant, holding onto his hands. The support helps ground him, at least a little.

 

For the first time since the battle started, the crowd is deafeningly silent.

 

There’s just the sound of laboured breathing and of Ed’s heart beating in his ears.

 

He looks across the ring to where GNI stands, stoically, appearing to the world as if they aren’t as nervous as Ri3, but Ed still knows Mustang well enough—he sees the tension corded through Mustang’s body, posture too stiff, face too controlled than to be anything other than one of his masks to hide how he really feels.

 

It does little to make Ed feel better, knowing that Mustang is as nervous as he is.

 

A beat, and then another.

 

It feels as if time is taking an eternity to pass by, creeping _ever_ so slowly.

 

Ed is nearly shaking from exhaustion and anticipation. He can barely breathe.

 

Then finally, _finally—_

 

“The Risembool Three, representing South City!!”

 

And _—shit._ They won. _They actually fucking_ won.

 

The air is knocked out of Ed’s lungs as he exhales, and Winry shrieks with joy next to him, pulling him and Al into a hug.

 

“Guys! We did it!”

 

And Al’s laughing with joy while Winry continues to scream and Ed is just so damn _relieved_. Pride blooms in his chest, sheer unadulterated _exhiliration,_ and fuck, how could Ed have ever let himself forget how it feels to win a battle?

 

How could he have ever let himself doubt that the three of them would win?

 

They fucking _rock_.

 

He feels his eyes drawn over to GNI again, and Mustang is stone-faced at first. But their eyes meet across the ring and something in Mustang’s expression softens, a slight quirk of his lips upwards. He looks almost happy for them _—_ happy for _Ed_. His eyes don’t match the rest of his face however, shimmering darkly with some unknown emotion. If Ed didn’t know any better, he’d almost call it fear.

 

Hah. As if.

 

What would Mustang have to be afraid of anyway?

 

Ed really can’t find it in himself to care at the moment. He’s too busy being happy over the fact that they actually _won!_

 

They’ve secured the title of Division Champion for this battle season and Ed can claim back what was stolen from him.

 

That’s all he cares about.

 

Well, that and celebrating with Al and Winry, because he couldn’t have fucking done it without them.

 

But that can wait until after he takes a long _nap_.

**Author's Note:**

> pls hmu if ur gonna be at sacanime (6/7-6/9) & u wanna scream fma or royed!!!
> 
> if u actually read this, congrats. idk what to tell u. but thanks kjfgkjfgkjdfks


End file.
